


playing heart games just to bleed

by surena_13



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/F, mentions of MU Philippa Georgiou/MU Commodore Paris, mentions of Philippa Georgiou/Commodore Paris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-11 23:56:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17456714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surena_13/pseuds/surena_13
Summary: It's not her. It's not her wife. Afsaneh knows this. In the end it doesn't matter.





	playing heart games just to bleed

It’s not her, Kat had told her when she had contacted her. The war was over. The Federation and Starfleet were trying to find a way to rebuild all that they had lost. And Afsaneh finally had the time, the peace of mind to mourn her wife. And then Kat had dropped a bomb on her. A different universe, a darker, fucked up universe, where violence, sex and Terran superiority ruled supreme. The universe where the Gabriel that had looked at her as if she were a nasty ghost from his past had come from, the Gabriel that had nearly killed one of her closest friends.

 

The universe where Philippa, not _her_ Philippa Kat had repeated, had been emperor, responsible for so much death and cruelty. The Philippa that was now here, running around doing God knows what. An alternate version of her wife was out there. Suddenly having a complete breakdown had felt like the best option. But Starfleet needed her and Pippa would kick her ass for quitting. So she just went on, the knowledge that another Philippa was there, clinging to her everywhere she went.

 

It’s not her, Michael insisted the during the dinner they had when the Discovery had stopped for a quick shore leave and restocking at the Starbase Afsaneh was running and overseeing repair of. She had never seen her late wife’s protégé and not-quite daughter so unlike herself, so heartbroken and confused as she talked about that universe’s Philippa, about the differences, the similarities, the pain she had felt looking at the woman who looked like her mentor, but wasn’t.

 

She had never really bonded with Michael the way Pippa had wanted, the way she had wanted, but she had hugged her then, holding close the only person who shared her grief, who knew at least some of the classified information about the emperor running loose in their universe. Other than Kat, Michael was the only person who knew just how impossible this situation was.  

 

It’s not her, Afsaneh whispered to herself when Philippa stepped off the transport, a frighteningly familiar face and body with painfully unfamiliar expression and movements. It ached to see her like this, a deep, unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach to watch the face she had loved belong to a woman who was nothing like her Pippa.

 

It only worsened when Philippa met her eye and Afsaneh knew. She saw something change in the former emperor’s expression, subtle, barely noticeable for anyone not intimately familiar with this face. But she knew. In whatever harsh universe this Philippa hailed from, she had loved the Afsaneh there. And she had lost her. She recognized love and she recognized grief as easily in this Philippa as she had in her own.

 

It’s not her, her conscience screamed at her when she invited Philippa to her quarters for a drink. She knew. None of it was right. Not the way Philippa took up too much space as she settled on the sofa, nor the way those eyes followed her around the room like she was watching her prey. She didn’t pull Afsaneh down next to her when she was handed her scotch, the way Pippa had done countless times. It was all wrong. But seeing Philippa, any Philippa among her belongings, close to their wedding photos, something inside of her made it feel just a little right.

 

Philippa had answered bluntly when asked who the other Afsaneh had been to her. The emperor’s consort, her most trusted ally and, after Michael, her biggest weakness. Afsaneh didn’t want hear what had happened, but listened nonetheless when Philippa told her that she had found her counterpart’s body, one of her own swords in her chest, a clear declaration of war. She had killed those responsible, slowly, painfully, until they were begging for it. She could only guess it was their universe’s way of showing love.

 

“I’m not her,” Afsaneh whispered as Philippa leaned closer, fingers already twisted in her long hair. The former emperor just shook her head and kissed her anyway. She kissed differently, harder, rougher, with teeth, as if being gentle hadn’t ever occurred to her. Different was good, the pain was even better. The way she pulled on her hair, bit her bottom lip, the way she squeezed her waist just hard enough to hurt, Afsaneh reveled in it. Anything that could help her forget that this Philippa tasted exactly the same.

 

It had never been like this with Pippa. Even when they had gone for rough, it had been with a smile, with love. This was fueled by a desperation to both remember and forget. A desperation Afsaneh didn’t know she felt until she was naked on her hands and knees, Philippa’s fingers buried in her cunt, her teeth in her shoulder and she was begging to come, just to not feel anything for one carefree moment.

 

“You’re not her,” she muttered quietly, cataloging the scars on Philippa’s body, the jagged white lines that spoke of the life she had led. They would have been horribly out of place on Pippa, but on the emperor, they belonged. But when she reached out to touch a particularly nasty looking one on her hip, Philippa had her on her back, hands pinned above her head in a flash, nostrils flaring, fire in her eyes.

 

Even now, her body tired and aching, guilt starting to weigh heavily on her shoulders, the taste of the emperor’s come on her lips, she wanted more. She wanted as much as she could take. She needed everything Philippa could give her. She craved the pain and the pleasure. Philippa just looked at her, straight hair framing her face. And for once, Afsaneh didn’t have a clue what she was thinking or deciding. She could only lie there, nails biting into her wrists, knee pressed against her sensitive pussy, waiting for Philippa to do something, anything.

 

“No, I’m not, but you don’t want me to be.”

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so I've never tackled Afsaneh Paris before. Hope I did her some justice, because I enjoyed writing this.


End file.
